


dazzling, holding the world inside

by Kt_fairy



Series: The brighter sun and the easier lays [9]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, do not repost to another site, good things, there is a lack of positive tags tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 01:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: Roger knew that when he wore his emotions on his sleeve he wore them proudly. He always had. Yet his habit of bursting into tears when he was really, truly happy, was something that came blessedly (or depressingly, depending on how you looked at it) rarely.or5 times Roger cried tears of joy, and one time he didn't. (with bonus)





	dazzling, holding the world inside

**Author's Note:**

> Roger is a big, soft, imperfect boy.
> 
>  
> 
> shout out to hazydaisy for listening to me talk, and then talking back.
> 
>    
> Might wanna listen to the ultimate banger You and I before going in, remind yourself of the lyrics. 
> 
> (I don't want anyone to be triggered, so here's a warning for a very, _very_ , vague implication of a shitty dad in the first section)

 

####  **1.**    

####  _1957_

 

“Mummy?” Roger called quietly.

 

 He had been thinking and thinking and thinking about this thing for days. It had almost put him off his dinner he was thinking about it so much! His stomach was all in knots about it, and that was not very good. Not very good at all!

 

“Yes darling?” his mum said, smiling over at him from where she was pulling his curtains closed.

 

 Roger fingered the edges of his blanket and summoned his courage. He was six years old, and a big brother, it was his job to be brave. “When are we going home?”

 

 His mum paused, shoulders rising and falling, and before Roger could say anything else she perked up again and quickly adjusted the fall of the curtains. She turned smartly, heels clicking over the floor as she came to perch on the side of his bed. She neatened her skirt so it lay over her knees, and turned to brush her fingers through Roger’s fringe.

 

“This is home now, darling,” she smiled softly.

 

“Oh.”

 

“I know Cornwall can feel an awful lot like you’re on holiday. Once you settle into school and your room, it’ll start feeling more like home.”

 

 Roger nodded, chewed at his bottom lip, and then whispered. “When’s father coming?”

 

 He didn’t understand the look on his mother’s face. She looked angry, and upset, and Roger felt terrible that he had made her feel that way when she had just been smiling. “Darling…”

 

“I’m sorry. Don’t be sad mummy! I’m sorry. I won’t ask again.”

 

“No, my darling. It’s quite alright,” she smiled again, cupping his cheek. “Your father is staying in Norfolk. For...for _work_. He might visit every so often, but it’s just you, Claire, and myself from now on.”

 

 Roger thought about that for a moment. Father was saying in their old home, while they were in their new home which was hours and hours and hours and _hours_ away in the car. This home was all the way on the other side of England! Roger had opened his book of maps and traced the distance himself.

 

 Roger had never been this bursting full before. This so full of wonderful, happy, lightness that he felt his eyes getting all hot and stingy like when he would fall over and cut his knees. But with happiness! He wasn’t in pain, or afraid of what father might say. Father couldn’t say anything to him, or yell at him, or Claire, or his mother!

 

“ _Roger,”_ his mum breathed, and he couldn’t stop it. He burst into tears. “Roger! Oh…!” He was enveloped in the warmth of his mother, in the soft scent of her perfume, and pushed his face into neat blonde hair. “We’ll have fun here Roger, don’t you worry. Don’t cry dear, don’t be sad, it’s all right.”

 

 He wasn’t sad. He was happy. He was so happy he was sobbing. It felt foolish, and weak, and stupid, nothing his father would have tolerated, and he didn’t want his mum to think she had upset him. “I’m happy mummy. I’m so happy. I’m so happy!”

 

“Then why are you…” his mum pulled back, holding his face in her hands as she looked over him. She shook her head, pulling a handkerchief out from her sleeve to wipe at the tears on his face. “I know exactly how that feels. You’re so full of good things that they have to come out somewhere, don’t they? Which is no bad thing,” she pressed a lingering kiss to his heated forehead. “No bad thing at all.”

 

 **2.**  

####  _1972_

 

“Dear sir’s - blah blah… _blah_...we would _like to invite you to come to our offices and discuss the possibility of a contract_ and…” Freddie dropped his hands, wide brown eyes staring at Roger who felt like he was about to explode.

 

“Tell us! Tell us!” he demanded.

 

 When Freddie didn’t speak quickly enough Roger made to rush across the room to grab the letter, but Freddie held it above his head and declared, “And record an _album!_ ”

 

 Roger didn’t even realise he had leapt on Freddie until he was airborne, and then he was crashing into him. It was only the fact that Freddie had the wall at his back that stopped them crashing to the floor, not that either of them would have cared. They were too busy screaming and yelling, and then Brian was hugging them both also screaming and yelling.

 

 Roger untangled himself from between the two, taking the letter from Freddie to read over it, heart beating so fast his ears were ringing.

 

 They were doing it.

 

 They were really going to do it.

 

 Queen were recording an album!

 

 It wasn’t a guarantee of success, or recognition, but it was something they could hold. A physical proof of all the effort they had put in to this band and into music.

 

“Where the hell is Deaky!” Freddie demanded when Brian look the letter from Roger. Not that it mattered, his vision was swimming so badly he could barely read it. “I can’t believe he’s peeing at a time like this!”

 

“I’ll tell him!” Roger declared, then took off running along the corridor and up the stairs of Brian’s flat.

 

 He didn’t quite run into the toilet door, but he did thump into it hard enough that he heard John gasp from the other side of it. "Bloody _hell!"_

 

“Deaky! Deaky! Deaky! Open the door! Open the door!” Roger gabbled, rapping his knuckles rapidly on the wood until the door swung open.

 

“What!” John demanded, pausing in wiping his hands on his jeans when he saw Roger’s face. “Wha…”

 

“We’re…” Roger started, swallowing down a swell of joy even as he grinned fit to burst. “We’re doing an album Deaky! Trident want us to come do an album for them!”

 

 John blinked at him, then seemed to hear the commotion going on downstairs. “An album?”

 

“An album!”

 

 John opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked completely taken aback, his face cycling though several emotions before he smiled so wide his eyes crinkled. “An album!” he cried, sounding so breathless and young, the joy in his gapped-toothed smile so all encompassing Roger felt like he was going to burst right out of the roof.

 

“An…” Roger’s felt himself welling up just as John’s eyes widened. His smile slipped for just a second, but it was enough to make Roger take a step back, mortified.

 

 You got drunk before you cried, that's what blokes did. He couldn’t just start blubbling with happiness in the middle of the day like he was a little kid again.

 

 He wiped at his eyes, trying to think of something to say that could salvage this. He knew John wouldn't think he was weird, he was as bothered by typical masculinity as Freddie and Brian were, but Roger wouldn't bare it if John thought less of him.

 

 Roger's breath caught in his chest when desperation set in, thoughts racing as he started to panic, and that was when long arms looped around his shoulders and he was pulled into a tight hug.

 

“I’m really happy too," John whispered, a smile clear in his gentle voice. Roger balled his fists into the back of John's cardigan and buried his smile, and his tears, into his shoulder.

 

 John could be a bit of an unknown entity at times. What he was going to say or do from one moment to the next could still be a surprise even to Roger, and he was John’s best mate! He was deep thinker, was John, and a worrier, but he was also very warm, and very kind, and could be remarkably un-phased by things. Like Roger’s sudden emotional outburst, for example. He held onto him instead of shying away, allowing Roger to be overcome for a moment by the pure, relieved joy at this chance, this tiny fragile chance, to finally realise his dream.

 

“This could be our shot, Deaky,” Roger whispered. “To _do_ something with all this time and effort. Even if it crashes and burns, it’s not all been for nothing. We’re making a _sodding album_!”

 

“It was never all for nothing,” John said quietly. “We’ve had fun, and made friends. That’s not nothing. " Roger nodded, giving John a pat on the back as he slipped out of the hug. He felt a little more under control now, and was glad to see John looking at him as if nothing had happened. “But I know what you mean.”

 

 He was still smiling, a sparkle in his eyes that Roger loved to see, and he had to grin back at him even though he was feeling a touched embarrassed.

 

“Sorry about all that,” Roger said, wincing as he pointed to the wet patch on John's cardigan. “And that. Got a bit -  got a bit caught up in the moment.”

 

“I understand. It's a big deal for you,” John said as he shrugged out of his cardigan. “You've all worked so hard for this…”

 

“So have you! Really hard!” Roger grabbed John's arm, needing for John to know how much he meant to them all. “We're here because of all our effort, but we're nothing without our bassist. Nothing at all.”

 

“Oh, well. I…” John blushed, ducking his head to try and hide behind his hair. Which didn't work as Roger could see the pink tingeing his pale cheeks and his secretly pleased smile. “Well. Thank you. Umm…” John stepped aside, moving out of the way of the door. “If you want to splash water on your face, I'll go let Freddie jump on me.”

 

“See, this is why you're invaluable,” Roger grinned, slipping past John so their positions were swapped, John in the corridor and Roger half in the bathroom. “I couldn’t do without you, Deaks. None of us could.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Thank me later,” John pretended to grumble. He looked over Roger, made as if he was going to reach out to him, then smiled awkwardly and hurried off with his cardigan clutched in his hands.

 

 Roger stood and watched John go, feeling light and bright and like he wanted to down four pints of beer and jump on John all night. He smiled to himself, finally turning to go into the bathroom when John was halfway down the stairs. 

 

 

####   **3.**

####  _1976_

 

 Every song John wrote was catchy. Even if Roger thought they were not rock and roll enough or just plain lightweight, the bugger wrote catchy songs!

 

 Well, Roger supposed as pulled away from the traffic lights, if a song was about you then it was bound to get stuck in your head.

 

 He wasn't being arrogant, the song was definitely about him. He was the only _You_ to John's _I_ (or he better be), and after playing them his demo tape John had been shooting Roger so many nervous glances that even Brian had noticed.

 

 The song was decidedly un-rock and roll, and Roger couldn’t give a shit. It was beautifully melodic and full to the brim with happiness, bopping along under its own joyful steam. It was a typically unpolished demo, with Freddie fudging a few of the lyrics, but Roger had felt like he was right there in the song, standing in the moonlight with John, as happy in that moment as anyone could be.

 

 Roger thought he was very being covert about clearing the lump of emotion that was sitting his throat, and as John was still rambling on about sales models he thought he had been successful.

 

 He had a song written about him. And it was a love song! Not a sickly sweet one, full of cliches and declarations that no-one could ever hope to live up to. What got Roger right in the chest was that it felt real, that is was so honest! No one knew what the next month might hold, let alone the next year, so let's enjoy every moment of what we have right now.

 

 Roger knew he probably looked like a crazy person, flushing furiously and mindlessly grinning as he waved to let another car pull out in front of him, but he was only human. He defied anyone not to be a bit of a mess after hearing a song the one you cared about so much had written about _you_.

 

 Roger cared for plenty of people - he wasn’t that emotionally constipated - and knew he was cared for in return. But all of them, his mum and sister, Freddie and Brian, his ex’s, had always had a way to take a step back from him. His dad used to snap at him to go away, his mum sent him off to boarding school, Freddie used to disappear for days with Mary or his arty friends when they shared a flat. And his ex's had needed to take such large step’s back from Roger that they'd broken up with him.

 

 John spent every day with him. He would wake up with Roger, go to the studio with Roger, and then come home with him at night. Yes, they would go off and do their own thing with their own friends, but those times didn't feel like a much needed breathing space from Roger's relentless, exhausting energy. John always made him feel like he had missed Roger just as much as Roger would miss him.

 

 In fact, Roger thought as he held the steering wheel in a death grip, trying to keep the tears at bay, John was never exhausted by him. He never asked Roger to be quiet, or told him to go away or that he was being annoying. He would either be amused by him or sit there and let Roger happen around him. Of course John would have low energy days, or anxiety flare ups, and Roger would act accordingly - he wasn't a dick - but it was the everyday appreciation and love for him _as he was_ that meant so much to Roger.

 

 And then John had gone and written a song about them.

 

 He could feel John watching him now, and knew his silence and burning hot face were giving him away. As always happens when you try very, very hard not to cry, even out of happiness, all it takes is one person to notice for the tears to break free.

 

 Roger pulled over, being extra careful not to hit the curb or another car as he did so, stuck the car into neutral, and barely held in a sob.

 

 He didn't want John to worry. Roger knew that when he wore his emotions on his sleeve he wore them proudly. He always had. Yet his habit of bursting into tears when he was really, truly happy, was something that came blessedly (or depressingly, depending on how you looked at it) rarely. He had done it once or twice in front of John before, like when they got a record deal or finally had enough money not to be starving anymore. Big moments that deserved a big reaction.

 

 This moment wasn’t as obviously monumental or life changing as those things, but it felt just as big. It felt enormous, in fact. The warm, gentle happiness Roger had carried around with him all afternoon was so big and bright he felt like his chest had doubled in size just to hold it all.

 

 John turned in his seat, carefully reaching out to press both of his hands to Roger's leg. “What is it?”

 

“That song is about us, isn't it?”

 

 John nodded, uncertainty creeping into his expression, “Yes. It is.”

 

 Roger nodded, rubbing at his wet cheeks with his sleeve. “I really like it, Deaky. It's perfect. It's...its really good.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and smiled at John. “These are big soppy happy tears.”

 

“Thank god,” John sighed, giving Roger's leg a squeeze. “I was worried it was too…you know, it wasn't a big declaration of emotion. But I want it to be honest, because there’s too much, umm, hyperbole to do with relationships. Which isn’t really us.”

 

“Exactly!” Roger gushed, sniffing loudly. “That’s exactly why I love it. It’s got it’s head screwed on straight...just like you! Can’t stand all that flowery bollocks.”

 

 John shook his head, glanced around, and then quickly brushed the back of his hand over Roger’s cheek. It was a poor substitute for a kiss, but it’d have to do. “I meant every word of it. I want to make the most of every moment with you.”

 

“Me too. It’s why it got to me so much...and that it’s about me. I never thought...You really like me!” It sounded like he was joking, so he didn’t mind when John laughed. Roger was being serious though, he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that John liked him _this_ much.

 

 That he _loved_ Roger.

 

 John hadn’t said it yet, but he didn’t need to. His actions declared his feelings far louder than one, or three, little words ever could.

 

“As long as you’re okay,” John smiled, rubbing Roger’s leg.

 

“Yeah,” he wiped his face and his nose on his shirt, then shoved John’s shoulder. “Making me cry! Who the fuck are you!”

 

“Master of romance, obviously.” John gave Roger’s leg one last squeeze and pulled his hands back into his lap. “You be okay to drive the rest of the way?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine,” Roger sat back in his seat and huffed out a large sigh, blinking the last few tears from his eyes. “I’m more than fine,” he muttered as he knocked the car into gear and manoeuvred it back onto the road. “I’m going to give you a great big soppy kiss to match these soppy tears when we get home.”

 

“Good,” John said, gap-toothed grin in full force when Roger spared him a glance. “I think I deserve one after all that effort I put into that song.”

 

####   **4.**    

####  _1984_

 

“Hey Rog. Hey.”

 

 Roger smiled before he opened his eyes, turning his face towards the source of John’s gentle voice. He tipped his chin up for a kiss, and smiled sleepily when John gave him one.

 

“Are you going to wake up?”

 

“Suppose,” Roger huffed, shoving his hand into his shirt to rub over his shoulder as he wiggled himself upright in the armchair. “What's up?”

 

“Miami just sent over the weeks chart placings.”

 

 Roger pressed his hand against his chest, feeling his heart kick as he stared up at John who was giving nothing away - the bastard.

 

 He wouldn't have woken Roger unless it was good news, yet Roger dare not let himself get his hopes up for Very good news. That always lead to disappointment.

 

 Roger song's didn't get released as singles. Not in Queen anyway. He agreed that all the songs they did release had the best commercial chance (even if they were not always the best quality) and wasn't that bothered that his songwriting usually ended up as limited releases or on B-sides. He made his contributions in other ways, and drummers were famously hard to ignore and even harder to forget.

 

 Finally having his song released as a single in its own right was special, of course it was, and Radio Gaga had something. It was the message, and the sound of it, and even the bloody music video all coming together so well, Roger thought. The people he trusted said it was good, and so did the people he didn't, so maybe…

 

 John handed him the folded sheet of typewritten paper, and Roger sat up straighter at the quirk of a smile on his face.

 

 It wasn't number one's all the way down, nor was it up to single figures in the US charts, but it was first or second in most charts all over the world. It was a success. His song, that came from the mumblings of one of his nephew’s, was a success. Was understood. Was _loved._

 

 He ran his fingers down the line of number’s, the edges of his vision turning fuzzy as he smiled up at John. “Not doing bad is it?”

 

 John shook his head, looking so happy for Roger that he felt warm down to his toes. “Not bad at all.”

 

 Roger blinked away the tears to try and clear his vision as he looked down at the paper again. He laughed, the sound a little choked, and sniffled loudly as his smile only grew wider.

 

“I’ve got a number one,” he said to himself, then leapt to his feet and threw his hands in the air. “I’VE GOT A NUMBER ONE!” he yelled.

 

 He was laughing wildly, and so was John who darted in to kiss him. “You’ve got a hit!” John beamed, and Roger felt his face might split in two he was smiling so hard.

 

“Fuck yeah I have!” Roger declared, before kissing John again.

 

“Well done. I’m so proud of the song, and I’m so proud of you,” John even sounded proud, and Roger had to wipe at his eyes as more happy tears welled up in them.

 

“I’m proud of it too. Thank you,” he squeezed John’s hand, and pulled him in close when John started pressing kisses over his heated cheeks.

 

“I dug out some of the Bollinger and put it in the fridge to chill,” he said, looping his arm around Roger’s neck. “There’s already some Moët in there, but I thought you might want the _really_ expensive champagne to toast your success.”

 

“While we wait for the good stuff to get nice and cold,” Roger murmured, pressing his hand to John’s lower back. “How about we crack open the Moët, get tipsy and do all sorts of filthy things to one another, then call Freddie and Bri around to share the good stuff?”

 

“Sound’s like what a number one hit writer would do.”

 

“Funny that,” Roger smirked, holding up the slightly creased sheet of paper. “ ‘Cause that’s just what I am.”

 

####   **5.**

####  _1986_

 

 It showed what a fucking state Roger’s life was in that the sight of John’s worn Adidas trainers, tucked neatly under the Japanese table Freddie had bought for them, had him stopping in his tracks.

 

 He immediately looked around the hallway, his heart stuttering in his chest when he saw John’s suitcase sitting by the foot of the stairs.

 

 Roger pushed the door closed behind him and leant back on it, not knowing what to feel. He had thought this would all come to a head in a showdown, in one of their rare blow up fights, but Roger didn’t feel much like screaming and shouting right now. He was just pathetically relieved to see signs of John existing in their home once again.

 

 He had seen John over the past four months; there had been those stressful few days in the Biarritz house, and John had turned up in Montreux while Roger was doing some solo work, but he hadn’t been _home_ with Roger. In fact he had point blank refused to come home when Roger brought it up, and had buggered off entirely when Roger had pressed the matter.

 

 His absence echoed, and Roger felt like was missing an arm - which was pretty shit if you were a drummer. On the darker nights Roger would sit outside and smoke too much while he dwelling on it all. Becoming morose and despondent when he made himself face the fact that John had been acting like he hadn't really wanted to be around Roger for a while before he left.

 

 John had become withdrawn before the fucking _Magic Tour_ had even started, and at the time Roger hadn't thought much of it. John was in charge of sorting the finance out for these big tours, and on top of that he had to organise the extra insurance they would need to play in the USSR. It was stressful, and Roger respected that when John got stressed and anxious he needed his own space.

 

 Roger had been stressed as well, he had his own jobs to do when they were organising a tour, and had assumed it would all work itself out as it always did. They’d have a cuddle, or bicker, talk everything out, shag, and it would all be back to normal.

 

 It hadn’t gone like that. Not at all. For most of the tour John had been volatile when sober and a mess when drunk, which had become more often than not as they hauled themselves around Europe. Brian and Freddie were nearly forty, while Roger was only a few years off it, and as the tour went on it had become more and more difficult to summon up the energy to play a Queen set. John had still been thirty-four at the time, he was the spry young one, but he had been the most strung out and exhausted of the lot of them.

 

 And once the tour had ended, John had disappeared.

 

 Roger had been furious after Crystal found out where John had ran off to. He had been going out of his mind with worry, convinced John was dead in a ditch somewhere, and the bastard had been in fucking France!  

 

 That was behind him now. What was in front of him was going to find John, wherever he was in their house, and dealing with whatever state he was currently in.

 

 The first place Roger went to look was the kitchen. John hadn’t been drunk every time Roger had seen him, but he had been drinking a lot. And when John hadn’t been drinking he had been a skittish nightmare.

 

 The kitchen was dark and quiet and devoid of all life except the cactus sat on the windowsill. Roger hesitated in the doorway before checking the drink’s fridge, and didn’t know what to think about the fact that there were was nothing missing.

 

 Roger peered into the living room next, and gasped a little melodramatically when he saw John. He was stood by the sofa fidgeting anxiously, looking  small and out of place in this room that had so much of him in it. He was ashen with dark bags under his eyes, hair messy, his clothes hanging off him, but he was sober, Roger could tell that immediately. 

 

“Hallo,” he said, voice rough and leaning heavily into his midlands accent.

 

“John…” Roger breathed. There was a whole riot of emotions welling up inside him, but the one that was winning out was a bright, relieved, happiness that was making his eyes burn.

 

“You have every right to be angry with me over how I’ve behaved over the past months. I’m sorry. I’ve...not been coping with anything very well. For a while. Even the smallest thing felt so overwhelming. I...I wanted to come home but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want you…"

 

 He fell silent when Roger stepped around the sofa and came up to him. He looked so fragile and worn, but it was still John. Even though his eyes had none of their sparkle and his face looked drawn and exhausted, it was still _his_ John.

 

 His eyes fluttered closed for a moment when Roger held his face in his hands, and Roger felt the tears coming.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“I…”

 

“Physically? You’re not hurt or…”

 

“No. No I’m fine,” John said softly, holding Roger’s wrist with a trembling hand. “But I’m not okay. I’m really not okay em-emotionally or…”

 

 Roger knew that, had known for a while, but it still made his heart clench to hear that. “ _Oh Deaky_.”

 

“I’m sorry. I tried to get myself together. I tried...I thought I could go away from everything and that it would make everything feel okay again. But it’s not. I’m not. I feel so stupid…”

 

“You look knackered, Deaky. I’m not going to make you spill your guts now, we can talk about this later after you’ve slept. Ah!” he stopped John when he tried to speak again. “It’s okay. I don’t need you to tell me now.”

 

 John nodded, eyes flitting awkwardly around the room. Usually they would find their way back to Roger’s face, but today it looked like John couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. “Crys told me what I’ve put you through. He...and I know I have no right to really be here after all that. Or to expect you to help me. You don’t have to.”

 

“You can be such a bastard sometimes, you know that!” Roger snapped, grabbing John’s shirt to give him a gentle shake. “I’ve _wanted_ to help you all this fucking time! I’ve been waiting for you to...” Roger took a deep breath, wiping his eyes as a few tears escaped. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back, and I...John?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You are going to stay with me, and you are going to let me help you. Promise me!”

 

“I promise.”

 

 John’s word, and that he was here, was more than enough for Roger right now. He knew he was weeping, could feel the hot and heavy tears roll down his cheeks, but he couldn’t stop looking at John.

 

 He was home, and everything was going to be okay. Roger wasn’t going to entertain any other possibility. It was going to take a while, Roger knew that, and he might have to be more of a best friend than a lover for most of it, but they were going to do it. He was going to get advice, was going to look up therapists, and, if he needed to, Roger was going to get Crystal to come around and help him clear out all the booze from their houses.

 

 He was still angry at John, and hurt. And yet just the fact he was stood here in their living room was enough to have him bursting into happy tears.

 

“I missed you so much,” John said softly, almost shyly. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t…” Roger’s breath caught in his chest as he slipped his arms around John’s shoulders and pulled him against him. John didn’t smell great, mostly of stale cigarettes and sweat, but Roger didn’t give a shit. Especially not when John slowly, after a few seconds of shocked stillness, wrapped his arms around Roger.

 

 “I’m so happy you’re here,” he whispered as he let his tears fall into John’s neck. “I’m so happy you came back to me.”

 

 

 

  **+1.**    

_1991_

 

 Roger blinked up at the front of the house. It was a bright winter’s day, and the neat Victorian brickwork was bathed in a warmth that spoke of all the safety and comfort of home. Yet Roger couldn’t take any of that in.

 

 The drive home was a blank to him, and he could barely remember pulling into the driveway. He looked down from the house to the car keys he was holding in a crushing grip, slowly opening his fingers when he realised the metal was digging into his palm.

 

 He looked around, staring out of the driver’s side window before slipping out of the car in something of a daze. Roger held onto the door a moment before pushing it closed, resting his palm against the cool glass of the window as he tried to get his swirling thoughts in order.

 

 He turned back towards the house that was starting to loom over him now, and found himself startled by the sound his feet crunching into the gravel of the drive. It was a sound he often ignored, he heard it most day’s, but the familiarity of it threw him for a moment, made everything snap into a horrible sharp focus.

 

 He strode out, feet taking him to the front door on autopilot. He stood on the doorstep fumbling with the keys until he gave himself a good shake, took a deep breath, and concentrated on slipping the front door key it into the brass lock.

 

 The neatly painted green front door yawned open easily, revealing the checker-board tiled front hallway that he used to love skidding across in his socks. Roger steeled himself and stepped through, wiping his feet on the doormat without thinking as he carefully closed the door behind him.

 

 He purposefully kept his eyes averted away from the elegant Japanese table stood in the corner, a beautiful gift now littered with keys and glasses. And when Roger hurried across the hallway he was careful not to look at the painting hung by the stairs that had always been meant to brighten the hallway on dingy London mornings.

 

 Roger slowed down once he was past them, feeling like every step he took was fighting against the current in a running river. He was dreading where his journey would end, he knew that well enough, the ever closing distance between him and the dinning room fraught with something Roger couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

 

 Their beautiful custom made dining table had been covered in a dust sheet for about a month now, the insides of the old hi-fi and one of Brian’s amps spread all over it. John was sat with his back to the windows as he fiddled with something with wires coming out of it, and Roger had to peer into the flare of low winter sunlight to see him properly.

 

 John glanced up, obviously not having heard Roger come in. He started to smile on autopilot, but it quickly turned into wide eyed horror as he sat bolt upright in his chair.

 

 Roger blinked hard several times and shoved his hand into his shirt, rubbing at his shoulder as he wondered what the hell he looked like. He had floated all the way home on a cloud of thick, soupy nothingness, and that was probably what was on his face. Nothing.

 

 He was in shock, Roger knew that, and was vaguely glad of it. He was also vaguely terrified of what would become of him once it wore off.

 

“You...I thought you’d be longer.” John said, a hitch in his quiet voice.

 

 Roger nodded distractedly and came around the table. He pulled out the chair next to John and sat, shifting closer as he reached out to grip one of John’s hands tightly. Maybe too tightly, but John didn’t say anything.

 

 Roger picked up a piece of circuit board and spun it between his fingers. He was delaying speaking, not only because he didn’t know what would come out when he opened his mouth, but to give John a little more time. Give him a few more seconds of a world with Freddie still in it.

 

 He cleared his throat, and dropped the circuit board back onto the table. “I got there a bit late. I just missed him.”

 

####   **++1**

####  _2009_

          

 The door clicked closed softly, but even so Roger winced.

 

 He glanced over at Billy's door, left cracked open as always, and then over at Sarah's that she had decorated this evening with a picture Billy had drawn for her. He listened for any sounds of little bodies snuffling or shuffling, but the gentle, sleepy silence remained undisturbed.

 

 Roger had just put the two older kids to bed, and had been unable to stop himself peeking in on Robert. John had put him down a couple of hours ago, and even though he was a toddler now Roger sometimes liked to take a look at him gently snoring away.

 

 Roger loved these little humans for all their quirks and differences, and was often in awe that he got to help nurture and support them as they learnt about themselves and the world. Imagine that! Him and John got to do that every day! After so long thinking they never would.

 

 Roger pressed his hand against the warm wood of Robert’s door and smiled to himself before stepping away. He padded along the corridor and, being careful of that one creaky step, down the stairs, kicking the empty dog bed back into its place as he made his way into the kitchen.

 

 That was where John was, yawning as he waited for the kettle to boil. Roger watched him, looking cozy in his slippers and pyjama bottoms, and couldn't keep the smile off his face.

 

 Roger had never been one for domesticity. Or marriage, a thing that tied you all up in knots with another person who in that moment was your whole world. The very thing about people was that they grew and changed, so how could you possibly know this other person would still be your world in five years time?

 

 Luckily for Roger, he thought as he span the - civil partnership, not wedding - ring around his finger, John had been his world for a lot longer than five years. So it had worked out okay in the end.

 

 John glanced over his shoulder at Roger, gave him a content little smile, and went to pour the boiled water into the waiting mugs. "Kids go down okay?"

 

"Perfectly. I think they wore themselves out at the aquarium today."

 

"That was the plan," John said, a smile in his voice, and Roger found himself to be unbearably happy.

 

 There was no set reason he could point to and say 'this is why I am so filled with joy', it was everything. It was the children, it was the life he had lived with only a few regrets, it was the bloody dog, and it was John. Who looked really so very cozy that Roger had to go and wrap his arms around him.

 

"Oh hello," John said, glancing over his shoulder.

 

"Hey", Roger murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw and then his cheek. "I was looking at you and thought, _wow I need to hug that man,_ so here I am."

 

 John leant back into Roger, letting out a contented sigh as he rested his hand on top of one of Roger’s. “Good,” he said, slipping one of his feet back to knock gently against Roger's ankle in a playful, almost flirty, move.

 

 Roger bumped their knees together and held John a little tighter. He kissed John's hair that was more grey than brown these days, smiling when John tilted his head just enough for Roger to plant a few chaste kisses on his neck.

 

  Usually this easy flirting would lead to them hurrying upstairs and leaving their tea to go cold on the counter, which Roger definitely wasn't opposed to (hitting their fifties certainly hadn't killed their sex lives, and John was still lovely enough to get Roger going when he wanted to), but not right this second.

 

 Maybe it was age and the rock star lifestyle catching up with him, or how happy in himself and the world Roger was right now, but he just wanted to hold John for a bit.

 

 He pressed his face back into John's hair and soaked up his warmth and the oh so familiar, and still oh so delightful, smell of him. "Love you," he said, feeling a few tears well in his eyes that were easily blinked back.

 

 He was boundlessly, endlessly happy, and yet it was a comfortable sort of happiness. It didn't overwhelm him like it once did, to be loved as much as he loved, but that wasn't a bad thing. Being comfortable wasn't a bad thing. And neither was still blinking back tears of happiness when you were well into your fifties, especially if you were holding the love of your life in your arms while your children slept peacefully.

 

"Love you too -" John said, bringing Roger's hand to his mouth to kiss softly, "- of course."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have made posts about the Deacon-Taylor kids' [here](https://pianowrites.tumblr.com/post/184269509940/i-adore-your-brighter-sun-wedding-headcanons) and [here](https://pianowrites.tumblr.com/post/184745007485/queenofparrys-asked-me-about-more-info-for-the) on my writing blog, if you want more info on em. 
> 
>  
> 
> I won't say this with any certainty, as knowing me there's a chance I'll be back in a while with smth else, but I think this is going to be the end of Brighter Suns. This feel's like a natural end point for the series, and I don't want to keep going longer than I need to. 
> 
> That's not to say I won't write anymore Queen fic's, or Dealor, but atm this series is done. 
> 
> So thank you to Brooke and Jack for kicking this off, to Maddie for her encouragement and enthusiasm, to somedayoneday and devereauxing for the support, to Hazydaisy for even more enthusiasm and encouragement, and to all of you who've been here since the first chapter (and Laminy and IvyYara for always commenting).


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